


after school special

by cicadas



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Daily Bugle, F/M, First Meetings, Photographer Peter Parker, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 09:58:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15094379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cicadas/pseuds/cicadas
Summary: “Nice name. I’m Peter, by the way. I do the nature photography.” He says, gripping your hand with his own warm one for a moment before letting go.based on this prompt:'can you do a Peter Parker blurb pre-spidey powers where you met each other working at the same job?'





	after school special

“You got it?” The hand hovers over your keyboard, and you resist the urge to swat it away. You repeat that, ‘yeah, you got it’ for a third time before the middle-aged man moves away, letting you pull your seat back toward your desk.

You’d been here a week, three hours a day after school, typing drafts of other people’s work and proofreading edits before they are sent through. Simple stuff, but despite your glowing recommendation letter from your school and your computer knowledge outranking most adults in the office, your age is a stopgap. You’re young, therefore you don’t know. That seemed to be the motto of most people over 25.

One person you’ve noticed in the office once or twice is a boy - someone your age, lean and clad in a wool-cardigan and sporting a very schoolboy-looking backpack. (You made sure to switch out your own school bag for a handbag before coming into work at the Bugle, just to seem a little more grown up. It wasn’t necessary, and you were sure it didn’t do anything to make you seem professional at fifteen, but you may as well look the part). If you lean forward in your chair, looking between your computer screens, you can see him now, through the slanted blinds of Jameson’s office. You can hear Jameson, too, talking loudly about something - he’s always just below a shout, the man, but he he’s as entertaining as he is intimidating.

The door slams open, causing the glass pane to rattle, and you look up to see the boy step out quickly, the door slamming shut behind him. His head is bowed, a manilla folder in his hand and a camera hanging from his neck.

He looks up, catching your eye, and you duck your head sheepishly, hiding behind the monitors. You can’t exactly type crouched, though, so you right yourself, setting back to work formatting the text you’ve been given.

A voice behind you almost sends your fists flying forward into the computer screens. You clutch a hand to your chest, rotating in your chair until you’re facing a very startled camera-guy, whose eyes are so comically wide you’d think he was the one who’d just been frightened half to death. Or tech-destruction.

“Sorry. I probably should have cleared my throat, announced myself or something. I just wanted to say hi.” He says, in a voice that sounds like its just come out of puberty. His brown fringe is coated in product and hanging over his forehead, eyes as brown and soft as a doe’s.

You seem to settle at the sight of him up close - he’s probably the least frightening thing you’ve seen in a long time - and you hold out your hand. He points at your name tag (you’d have to wear it for a month, apparently) before taking it.

“Nice name. I’m Peter, by the way. I do the nature photography.” He says, gripping your hand with his own warm one for a moment before letting go.

“Nature photography?” You point at the folder, about to ask if some of his work is in there, when the same bald man teaching you about tabs on a Word document yells out from the other side of the office.

“Parker. Come see me before you head out. Tweenie, how you going on those drafts?” He calls, and you notice that both you and Peter make a face. You know a ‘get back to work’ when you hear one, even without the horrible nickname, so you smile apologetically at Peter.

“I’ve got to, you know, work. I’ll see you round here, I’m guessing?” You offer, keeping your eyes on him as you turn your chair back to your screens.

“Yeah, definitely,” He says, nodding.

Another ‘Parker!’ resounds through the small office, and he tucks his head into his shoulders a little. “I’d better go see him before he blows a fuse. Or complains to Jameson.”

“Let’s hope neither of those things happen,” You say quietly as you resume your typing. You give a thumbs up when you see Peter turn back to your desk, mouthing a discreet ‘good luck’, and watch him take a seat next to the man’s computer. You’re still not sure of his name, but it starts with an A, and you’re pretty certain you don’t like him. Or his stupid nicknames. You wear a name tag for a reason.

You get through the rest of your work to clock off on time, waving goodbye to Barb at reception as you go.  
“Oh, sweetheart! That young boy left this for you a couple hours ago. I said I’d keep it here for you.” Barb reaches over her desk and passes you a piece of paper, her glasses-chain clinking against her many earrings.

You thank her as you leave, gripping your bag tight on your arm, and unfold the paper. Inside is a photograph - a simple image of a park on a cold afternoon. Nobody around, sitting or eating or sleeping. No leaves on the trees. It was so serene, it was like the place couldn’t exist in this city. You turn over the photo as you exit the building, and pause. Slowly, a grin spreads its way from one corner of your mouth to the other.

On the bottom-left corner of the photograph, in loopy handwriting, is a name - _Peter Parker_ \- and his phone number.


End file.
